


Scamming the Scammer

by bananamilkk



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Con Artists, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fate & Destiny, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamilkk/pseuds/bananamilkk
Summary: Laurent and Makoto are so different yet similar. Both of them had taken on a different identity, but this time, they are not on the same side... but when were they ever?Both meet, and the line between their lies and truth started blurring against their growing affections.(AU where Makoto hasn’t met with Laurent and where he does corporate money laundering scams.)
Relationships: Edamura Makoto & Abigail Jones, Edamura Makoto & Laurent Thierry, Edamura Makoto/Abigail Jones, Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 42
Kudos: 200





	1. Glass Penthouses, Private Jets and Expensive Art

**Author's Note:**

> My 3rd LaurentxMakoto fic! for the first one, I've used Edamura but for the 2nd and 3rd, i've decided to use Makoto instead of Edamura (last name). The last 2 are not AUs and it actually branches of certain parts of the anime, but this one is a new idea taking place in another time where Laurent didn't visit Japan to recruit Makoto for the LA con! My fics are normally long but are mostly 1 shots, however I noticed people tend to prefer shorter ones about 2000 words? Plus this fic takes place over a span of time, so I decided to divide them into a few chapters! Not sure how many, but... it will be around 6 or so.

Jazz filled the high-ceilinged penthouse. The apartment was situated in Aoyama—Minato ward which is the central of Tokyo. A concrete city that never sleeps. The neighbourhood was known for its expensive real estate and a number of high profiled CEOs live in the area. No one under the salary of $5000 a month lives in the building. A prestigious condominium built by a second-generation rich kid just to earn some extra money. The condominium boasts its exquisite view from the floor to ceiling windows, the immaculate interiors as well as the never ending amount of facilities for everyone. The security was especially tight, since many famous people lives in this very building.

On the 25th floor of the condominium, the penthouse, lived in by Harada Makoto, was filled to the brim with expensive paintings, ornaments and pretty glassware. The shelves were filled with books, sparkly trinkets and music records. If anyone were to step into the house, they would be able to tell the owner really likes old music. Expensive disks of records stacked high, along with the limited editions hung on the wall, the total price of the owner’s excessive belongings would exceed half a billion. Who could afford to live in such a _maximimalist_ penthouse apartment?

Harada Makoto could… or to be more precise, Edamura Makoto. A mastermind in disguises, acts and cons. Especially ones that involve faking a degree—not to forget forging a whole new identity. Stealing someone’s identity isn’t that hard either. Makoto has an excel sheet filled with potential names he could take on, mainly Japanese people of course. Most of them had ‘Makoto’ as their names since his name wasn’t uncommon in modern day Japan. The majority of the people in Makoto’s list were either dead, missing or had threw their old names away, assuming a new identity. It wasn’t legal, but it was much better than stealing an existing person’s identity—was what Makoto reassures himself with. He was always afraid his morality would disappear from the number of years he had been scamming big companies to regular civilians. At the age of 24, it had been a good 6 years or so since he had publicly used ‘Edamura Makoto’.

This time, he struck gold. He had assumed the role as Harada Makoto. Mr Harada had led 30 years of life extravagantly. At the age of 25, he graduated from Tokyo’s law school as the valedictorian in 2009, with a phD in Law and a bachelor’s in Finance. He was scouted by A* law firm, which was the most expensive, prestigious law firm in all of Japan. Working his way up, he managed to get a position as the CFO… Though after a year in that position, he decided to quit his job and get back into law in Indonesia helping low-income families… Sadly enough, his life got flipped over when an earthquake struck the town he was in and he died. No one remembers him, no funeral was created to commemorate the young lawyer since he was an orphan—and the people that had worked with him had long forgotten who Harada Makoto was. Makoto felt a little bad when he chose Harada as his new identity since the man had devoted his life to a good cause but ended up dying anyway.

‘I’ll help you live your life, Harada… but maybe in a different way.’ Makoto had thought as he photocopied a paper of his birth certificate and passport photos. It wasn’t hard for Makoto to assimilate into the man’s life. He had applied for A* law firm’s rival in the business. B* law firm was the next best thing people could get. The law firm was still one of the prestigious private firms despite being 2nd in the country and only a small percentage of people could afford its services (mainly celebrities and politicians). They were happy to accept ‘Harada Makoto’ into their big family. None of them had met Harada before despite being so closely competitive with each other. However, B* law firm was known to poach people from A*. Hence, when he decided to openly join the firm, they were more than happy and their treatment towards him as the new CFO was… t _oo welcoming_.

It had been 2 years since he had taken on the name of Harada Makoto and to say he embezzled a few millions was an understatement. Moving people around was easy with such a high position in the company. If anyone didn’t like him, they would be promptly removed from his immaculate office, never to be seen again. Though, Makoto has been smart enough to not let anyone catch a whiff of the gapping hole in the firm’s pockets. No one **could** suspect him. Harada was a well loved man. With a ‘baby face’ and his handsome features, there were a long line of women waiting to be his secretary. His work was exceptional (on the surface anyways) and he had ‘people skills’. Something the CEO said was important for everyone. Perhaps, Makoto’s ‘people skills’ were far too good for anyone to realise he was _just_ a high school graduate.

His bank account was teeming with money. The number of zeros behind the first number would make any regular citizen in the streets of Tokyo freak out and report the money to the police. This was the first time Makoto had been so successful in a con. He was always good with numbers. Ever since high school, he’d always get praises from his mathematics teacher and bring home As for his mother… well, until his mother fell ill and his father got caught for rape and sex trafficking minors. That aside, Makoto was living a good life. Food in his belly, gold on his wrists, he would even admit he had been letting his guard down. Everyone just loved ‘Harada Makoto’.

…

“Kohnee…chiwah… Hm… doesn’t sound right.” A blonde man muttered under his breath as he held a small booklet up to his face. He was sitting in a private jet with his legs crossed. The man was handsome. With silky platinum locks, china blue eyes and sharp facial features, he was mistaken for a model one too many times since his sense of dressing was always impeccable. Sporting a grey suit today, he has his dress shoes kicked off for the long flight from France to Tokyo. No layovers for this man and his companions. He was accompanied by 2 other ladies. The girl sitting in front of him was a young girl, easily mistaken to be in her teens, she had black hair cut into a short pixie cut which matched with her wild sense of dressing. A band tee with distressed jeans, she looked more fitting to the theme of ‘airport fashion’. The woman beside her however, was the total opposite. She had fiery red hair— like Ariel in the Little Mermaid. One could tell from just a glance the woman works out and keeps her body fit. She has long legs which were carelessly kicked out on top of the empty seat opposite her. Soft features with an oval face, she sported a pair of shades, despite being in an airplane with the window shields down.

“You sound dumb as fuck. Just give up, _Laurent_.” The bronze toned female shot him a look of irritation. She never liked planes. Flying above her, or being in one… didn’t matter. She was clearly upset, though most of her companions would say she looks upset most of the time. However, she was genuinely upset—no, angry that she had to take a 12 hour flight from Paris to Tokyo just for an ‘easy con’. Yes, the 3 people in the private jet are conmen. Confidence men—the blonde one would call it.

Abigail Jones—Abbie for short, openly dislikes the plan the blonde man has for their Japanese target, but didn’t (never) disagrees or reject a plan he has set. It was always foolproof, having a 100% success rate as if the man could foresee the future.

“It’s Konnichiwa, Laurent… And just say ‘hi’ if you can’t pronounce it, it’s good enough.” The red haired woman stirred in her seat. She had been awoken by Laurent’s horrible Japanese pronunciation. The thick French accent wasn’t helping his intonations at the right parts and his tongue felt clumsy. Cynthia, the woman that spoke, had a better grasp of the language since she had been picking up multiple languages in her free time. People loved a pretty woman who was smart after all.

“Oh, no… I can’t do that. Saying ‘hello’ appropriately is the most important part when meeting new people.” The French man flipped the small booklet. Before Cynthia could add anything to the argument, the soft ‘ding’ could be heard—signalling the seat belt sign on. They were going to land in a few minutes…and excitement was not what’s brewing in Abbie’s stomach.

“UGH, fuck,” The girl cursed, checking her seat belt once again for the Nth time.

“Oh, relax Abbie. Laurent has gotten a new pilot after you threatened the last one. He was scared off.” Cynthia threw the magazine that was over her lap to the seat opposite hers and got her legs down. She slipped back into her pair of red bottoms and took off her sunglasses.

“Apparently he just graduated from pilot school—what he has learnt still fresh in his head!” Laurent added. He thumbed the pages again after adding the unnecessary comment.

“FUCK YOU LAURENT!” Abbie shouted, a vein popping out from the corner of her temples, something not uncommon with that short tempered girl.

Laurent laughed after taking one look at the young girl in front of him before getting back to his Japanese lesson. The booklet was something he picked up at the airport for free. A small reading corner provided in the private lounge for travellers going out to all over the world. The shelves were filled with books of various languages. Laurent had picked the appropriate one before hopping onto his private jet. He was at the last page of the booklet after practicing his pronunciations. He’d just have to rely on this book if none of the Japanese understood him.

The page read 旅行を楽しんでね！ _(Enjoy your trip!)_

_Oh_ , **he definitely will**.

…

What Edamura Makoto could do, Laurent Thierry could do better. The French man and his companions sat in a private dining area in an Italian restaurant, waiting for guests to arrive. The French man was not Laurent Thierry today, but a man named Laurent Carrington, the chairman of a private law firm in America, boasting in its huge fame and high value. Mr Carrington—a fictional character made up by Laurent was a close friend to the CEO of B* law firm. Apparently, they had met online through a video conference the conman had staged. Hitting it off immediately, the two began emailing each other—and when the Japanese man learnt of Carrington’s trip to his home land, he was more than glad to receive Carrington and his family as well.

They were set to meet in an upscale Italian restaurant in Ginza, the bustling district filled to the brim with excessive otherworldly desires. It wasn’t unnatural for a famous Michelin star restaurant to be situated in Ginza where people spent money like there was no tomorrow. The French man was dressed to the nines for this day, mainly because he’d be meeting his target for the day, Harada Makoto, the CFO of B* law firm and the CEO’s—his _dear friend’s_ closest colleague. Did it make sense that the CFO would have more cash stacked up in his bank than the chairman of the law firm? One look at the young Japanese male and one would be able to tell something was going on, maybe, people in Japan were a little too trusting (was what Laurent thought to himself).

Cynthia and Abbie took on the role as Carrington’s wife and daughter respectively. Cynthia Carrington was a beautiful flight attendant Carrington met on his trip to Dubai. They got married 3 months in and adopted a young teenage girl—Abbie Carrington. She was the jewel of their eyes. Pretty, smart and… spoilt. Decked out in designer brands and pampered head to toe, the young girl knew nothing of rejection.

Soon enough, a knock came from the heavy mahogany doors and 2 Japanese men stepped in. A plump man in his mid 50s walked in dressed in a modest black suit, followed by a young man—who looked like he was in 20s. Dressed in a dark forest green velvet suit and accessorised with a gold watch, he looked more like someone else’s rich kid than a CFO for some firm. Laurent could feel excitement bubble in the pit of his stomach as he bit down on his lips to stop a growing smirk.

“Ah! Mr Carrington!” The older Japanese man held out his hand in a welcoming manner, joy evident on the innocent man’s face.

“Mr Tanaka! Nice to meet you, finally!” Laurent flashed a dazzling toothpaste commercial worthy smile at the old man. As if struck by the light reflecting off the French man’s pearly whites, he squinted his eyes but laughed joyfully (affected by the jolly mood in the room).

“This is Harada Makoto. He’s our CFO! Young and talented, at the age of 30, he’s made his way up quickly!” Tanaka said. His English was much better in writing as his words sounded clumsy on his tongue. However, the receptive older man didn’t let his bad English affect the mood. He paraded Makoto around. It was an unanimous decision in the boardroom that day when they were deciding whether to hire Harada—and they were all more than proud the elite CFO joined them.

“Oh, Mr Harada. You’re younger than you look.” Laurent looked over to Makoto. His head tilting a little as he took in the whole of the younger male. Makoto looked immaculate in that suit of his. The velvet hugged his body in the right places and his hair stylishly tousled. If it weren’t for this job (and Makoto being straight), Laurent would have taken a liking towards the young male. Though, putting that fact aside, the French man loved teasing others. He had said his ‘compliment’ in a far too _information divulging_ way.

“Yes, I’ve heard. Nice to meet you Mr Carrington.” Makoto bowed slightly as he took Laurent’s hand in his. The young male’s hand was unexpectedly small—compared to the French man’s anyway.

“This is my wife, Cynthia, and my child— Abigail. You can call her Abbie, we all do. She’s our precious princess.” The blonde man snaked an arm behind the beautiful woman’s waist, resting his hand on her love handles. Leaning towards her husband, the pretty lady gave a smile towards the older Japanese man as well as Makoto.

Makoto was blinking too hard at the scene in front of him. A pang of jealousy rose up inside of him like a toxic wave as he eyed Abbie. The spoilt girl in front of him wasn’t even paying attention to anyone in the room but her stupid bejewelled phone. Perhaps it was because of his troubled upbringing, but Makoto didn’t like the young girl at all. She had everything he wanted— money, looks and **loving parents**. Especially a father that dotes on her way too much.

“Abbie, say hi to Mr Tanaka and Mr Harada.” Cynthia placed a manicured hand on her daughter’s shoulder, interrupting her from her manic typing on the tiny keyboard in her i-phone (like all teenagers do).

“Hm. Hi Mr Tanaka, Mr Harada.” She said, her tone unwilling. Though, they were all adults in the room. They understood how teenagers act. As the older Japanese man laughed it off, Laurent and Cynthia sighed, complaining how their young one’s been addicted to her new phone lately. As the conversation dragged on and laughter filled the private dining room, Makoto could only groan and roll his eyes at the sight of the superficial family he had to have a meal with.

**Ugh**.


	2. Is he gay or Japanese?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what to name this chapter, so... (if y'all don't know where it came from, go to Youtube and type in Is He gay or European musical)

A hum escaped from Makoto’s lips as he tapped his fingers happily on the side of his thighs. He was obviously in a happy mood today. Makoto was getting a new car. If he were to say what he spends most of his money on, it would definitely be music—then art and cars. Designer cars could go higher than a well-known painting. The better the specs, the higher the price. The better the name brand is, the more it is coveted. Most of the cars Makoto likes are sports cars that only go on sale through auctions, since those cars are so hard to produce, only 10 or so exists internationally. He wasn’t going for an auction today, but he had already acquired one from last month. The auction took place in Korea, which was fairly close. Rich men and women from all over the world flew in to attend the exclusive auction. Despite it being exclusive, since it was the ‘event of the year’, a certain number of journalists were allowed to sit in (however, buyers identities were strictly governed). It was a difficult auction as he was competing with some Prince from the middle east—his opponent was relentless, but when the price reached $45 million, he backed down in a fit of anger. Makoto had laughed internally at the spoilt prince as applauds surrounded him.

Today, he was to visit the Japan headquarters of the car brand to collect the vehicle—along with signing papers, receiving certificates and what not. Despite having such high profile, Makoto never has any personal assistants to do such jobs for him (the most was asking the receptionist to get his visitor in the office a cup of tea), mainly because rumours would spread, and once it does, his facade as Harada Makoto would be done for. No normal CFO could afford a $45 million car after all.

He pulled up outside the company’s headquarters. It was a tall glass building, the first floor used as a walk-in showroom for customers. The ceilings were high as he looked around, his dress shoes clicking on the marble floor. Several cars were spread across the huge lobby and a few people were looking, touching the models. Those cars looked beautiful—but paled in comparison with what Makoto’s going to collect today. He grinned in anticipation as he walked past a neon green sports car towards the elevators.

“Hold up!” Someone grabbed his arm, shocking the young Japanese male. His heart almost jumped out of his chest. Spinning around, Makoto saw a familiar face.

Ugh.

A young girl stood in front of him. Her bronze skin glowing and her pixie cut gelled back. The dark red pant suit she wore with her stilettos made heads turn. Some men eyed the two of them, some green with envy, others simply curious. It was already a surprise a young, beautiful girl would be in a place where obnoxious older men ruled, however, seeing the babe with an average looking young man made brows raise.

“It’s really you, Makoto.” A devilish grin tugged on her dark red lip.

“Hey, where’s the honourifics. We aren’t that close.” Makoto snapped— though, before he did, he made sure her parents weren’t along with her. The young girl was alone, sightseeing cars in a foreign country. Although he didn’t like her, any sane person would be a little worried for the teenager (even if Japan was a safe country).

“Oh, Makoto, c’mon. You’re just a little older… and my dad’s more powerful than you, which means you should be calling me Ms Carrington.” She scoffed, parading the Carrington name in front of Makoto’s face blatantly. This ticked the Japanese male off, but it spurred Abbie on.

“I have nothing to do with you.” He grunted unwillingly before trying to leave… but how could the young adamant girl let the foolish man leave?

“Aw, c’mon. I’m bored— Dad and mum are attending stupid business meetings again. I’m all alone for the zillionth time!” Abbie was taking a different stance now, though the young Japanese male didn’t notice. She pulled him towards her, hugging his arm in her chest. She had long passed the age of puberty, despite not having the most well endowed body, any man would be flustered if their arm were to touch a woman’s breasts… However, there was no reaction from Makoto.

“Get off me.” Makoto brushed the girl off, straightening his suit. Makoto knew what having workaholic parents felt like. Back when his father still had his ‘mask’ on as a hardworking lawyer, he’d come home late on weekdays and shut himself in the study on the weekends. Who knew what he was _‘working on’_. He never got to see his father. Craving his attention, he had shaved his whole head and gotten piercings—but that only resulted in his mother passing out and his father avoiding him. He just missed those days when his father would bring the family to the park, fly kites and have a good picnic under the cherry trees. Well, _those_ were all short lived. The frown on his face softened as he stared at the girl in front of him. He didn’t like her spoilt brattiness but he could better understand why she was acting this way. This was Abigail Carrington’s way of ‘shaving her head and getting piercings’.

“Oh, jeez. You look young but you’re a geezer. What’s wrong with a little bit of fun.” She leaned closer to him, her lips brushing the tip of his ear. She could feel the man freeze under her touch as she let out a giggle.

“It’s not funny, and I’m busy for today.” Makoto shrugged Abbie’s arm off once again.

“Busy? With what? In here?”

“I’m here to pick something up—that’s all. And head back to work.” Makoto added the fib. It was a Saturday. Even though his colleagues goes to work on Saturdays, he never works on his weekdays. He hated the fact that he had to go in and play pretend as Harada Makoto. On the weekends, he takes breaks and assumes his role as Edamura Makoto once again. Though, he’d do nothing much. Just kicking back his feet onto his coffee table, watching TV the whole day.

“Work? You? My dad’s in your company for today. You’re meeting him?”

“What? No… I’m just going to run an errand.”

“Well, drive me back to my hotel.”

“What? Why should I? How did you come here?”

“Some guy just asked me if I wanted a ride, so I hopped in and I gave him directions.” Abbie shrugged.

Makoto was appalled. He didn’t know whether the young girl in front of him was foolish or just took things for granted. He sighed internally—telling himself to have some understanding for this teenager. Even though she was adopted, she had been living in luxury for a few years now, and perhaps, her safety was always ensured. Japan was known to be a relatively safe country—compared to America, maybe Abbie thought hitch hiking was secure. He looked around. People were still staring at them. If the young girl were to go missing on her way back, he’d be the number one suspect and his work for the past 2 years would come unravelling in front of the police.

“Fine. I’ll drive you back. But just… wait outside. I’ll be back out in a few minutes.” Makoto brushed off the self-imagined dust on his arm where Abbie had hugged.

“Yay, thanks!” The teenager beamed. Before Makoto could react, she tiptoed, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

“HEY!” He shouted, wiping the sticky lipstick off of his left cheek, clearly disgusted by the gesture.

The existence of Abigail Carrington will never sit well with him…

…

The teenage girl ripped off (as gently as she could) the hoop earrings she wore. Earrings were never her thing—especially big dangly ones. She had borrowed the pair she wore earlier from Cynthia, who literally brings her whole wardrobe on trips like these. The pantsuit was Laurent’s idea. He had said it’d make her look more ‘mature’ and ‘appealing’ towards the target. Yes, they were using Abigail Jones as bait for Edamura Makoto. However, things didn’t go as easy as it should have. The young woman was pissed. She had to dress up in a way she didn’t like at all and be a honey trap for the wimpy Japanese male—whom she was sure is gay.

Gay as they can come.

“Laurent! You better pay up. The bet that you put on your stupid plan was a foolish decision.” Abbie hollered as she begrudgingly stormed into the hotel suite the 3 of them stayed in and used as their meeting room temporarily.

“What? The profile I collected on the targets are never wrong.” Laurent rolled his eyes, going back to danish pastry he was eating. He had queued in line for 2 hours for this popular pastry in the Shibuya. The bustling crowds and sunlight battering down on him didn’t make him falter—instead,when he received the box of 10 pastries, he was skipping with excitement as he travelled back to the hotel. With a lousy pronunciation of ‘domo arigatou’, he left the staff with an awkward smile on their faces. His joy could always rub off others easily.

“Apparently, this time you’ve royally failed. Edamura’s gay. No doubt it.” Abbie picked up a pastry from the open box (which had only half left).

“Gay?” Cynthia giggled.

“I even hugged him. Ew. He didn’t respond. Nor when I leaned in to whisper something in his ear. We were both equally disgusted.” Abbie clicked her tongue.

“Ooh, you go girl. I know you have the sexy seduction techniques in you.” Cynthia giggled once again. Abbie turned to the woman, who was lying sprawled out on the settee. Despite not having to leave the hotel suite for the day, she was still dressed beautifully. A baby pink tracksuit covered most of her body, but she had rolled one pant leg up (apparently, an ‘in’ thing at the moment). The red haired woman’s face was already slightly pink. Abbie looked over to the empty champagne bottle and lipstick stained champagne flute on the coffee table. The sun was clearly still high up in the sky, but Abbie just shut her mouth.

“It’s impossible. He had girlfriends before—he even visits those cabaret clubs according to my informant from Japan.” The blonde man refuted adamantly. He had always been proud of his intel work and his mass reach in contacts. Gaining information about the target is the most important part of the job, how could Laurent, the best confidence man get something so simple… wrong?

“Cabaret clubs or not, you’ve never seen him actually going into one or bringing anyone out. For all we know, he’s only there to entertain his clients.” Abbie pointed out as she removed her uncomfortable heels. She wondered how the woman beside her could wear such horrible torture devices everyday.

“C’mon, Laurent. Sometimes, misinformation happens! Now, pay up the $2 million.” Cynthia cackles. Her hand groped the coffee table blindly for her phone which was nowhere to be in sight. She was ready to receive a venmo payment from her colleague. Their bank accounts were bottomless, $2 million were nothing to them. However, $2 million was still $2 million. Cynthia could buy down another apartment in New York or a small painting from her favourite art gallery in Italy.

“I just don’t believe it till I see it.” Laurent huffed. He had put down his pastry, not in the mood for the 4th sweet treat he had already eaten.

“Thierry, my boy. See it for yourself then! Go out for a dinner—hell, if you want, go to a cabaret club and see if Makoto enjoys it or not. But you better double the amount you transfer us if you really are wrong.” Cynthia waved the blonde man away, before covering her eyes with her arm and knocking out, asleep.

Laurent sighed at his 2 companions. One dead drunk, the other stuffing her face with the pastry **he** bought. He really hopes he isn’t wrong this time, if not, the $8 million would really go down the drain.


	3. To throw a nine-tailed fox off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm towards the end of writing this whole story! I estimate it to be around 8 chapters! Would you like smut in this one? The 8 chapters would focus on the plot and characters, but not so much on smut--but of course, there is some sexy seductive scenes haha. But it's just that if you would like an extra chapter on their sexy times (don't worry, of course it's a happy ending), I can get in another chapter, and the total will be 9 chapters! My schedule for this is still the same, one chapter released every 24 hours (sometimes less)! Please comment to tell me your opinion!

Edamura Makoto had accepted Laurent’s invitation to dinner more easily (and readily) than what the French man had expected. Maybe he’d be losing $8 million soon, or maybe, Edamura Makoto was just courteous—and compared to a billionaire’s daughter, the man himself held more power over the CFO of the law firm. They had decided on a ramen restaurant near Kabuki-cho, Shinjuku. It was a tactical act on Laurent’s part. Today, for sure, he was going to find out if Edamura Makoto was gay or not. After dinner, he would slip in a playful suggestion for the both of them to visit the nearby cabaret clubs, passing it off as a ‘thing foreigners were always interested in’. They would go to one and Laurent would gauge the reaction of Makoto through his interaction with the hostesses… or hosts.

The restaurant he had taken a taxi to was a hole in the wall type of shop. Famous for their thick and flavourful broth, the place had a first come first serve basis like most other mom n pop shops around Japan. It has been a long time since Laurent had ever visited such a place. He was more used to high end fine dining or having his personal chef come in to cook… however, it wouldn’t so bad, squeezing close to each other in the ramen bar. He’d take this chance to test the waters. Touching ankles, elbows brushing pasts sides and leaning closer to speak, Laurent had all these tricks up his sleeve.

Though when he reached, his plans crashed to the ground as did his heart. Makoto was already sat in the restaurant on a corner table. The restaurant was filled to the brim, the bar area already taken by big stocky men fresh off work. He cracked a polite smile as he waved to the Japanese male waiting for him.

“Good evening, Mr Harada.” He sat down, the wooden chair creaked under his weight. The area was too small for his liking and he was far too close to the couple beside them. The young teenage couple beside them were in their own world, holding hands as they were eating and staring lovingly in each others eyes—which looked ridiculous to Laurent. He looked promptly away when the teenage boy shot him a stare for looking at them.

“Call me Makoto. It’s great to see you again.” Makoto leaned towards Laurent, resting his arms on the side of the tables.

“Oh, yes, feel free call me Laurent. I’m not used to having friends call me Mr Carrington.” Laurent laughed, flashing his pretty smile towards the target. They were sitting close, but not as close as Laurent expected. He stretched out his legs under the table, hoping to touch something. His dress shoes slid past the Japanese male’s ankle—and Laurent had to stop himself from grinning just from his tiny success. He leant his legs towards Makoto, the sides of their shin touching. Laurent looked at his target.

The two men’s facial expression hasn’t changed one bit, but neither of them moved their legs for the whole meal.

…

“Makoto, do you know anything about the cabaret clubs around here?” Laurent asked. His face was already slightly flushed from the humongous jugs of beer both of the men ordered alongside with their ramen. The food was unexpectedly delicious. Makoto and Laurent had hit it off well. They had the same interests in music—Makoto loved modern jazz, whereas Laurent loved the ‘90s jazz (he felt it had more spizzaz). During their heated debate of who’s taste in jazz was better, the couple beside them was rudely awakened by the older men beside them talking too enthusiastically about (to them) ’old people’ matters. They left displeased that their cute date was ruined.

Laurent was a charming conversation partner. Makoto had no trouble bouncing back conversation with the man. In fact, it had been a long time since Makoto had taken any interest in the person he’d been talking to. The day they had met (a week ago), Makoto didn’t really have any impression on the blonde man, since the chairman was just going on and on about work with the CEO. He had thought it was another workaholic that had the luck to strike gold one day, getting the position of a chairman. Laurent’s words were bland and boring as he tried to keep up with the conversation between the 2 older men… However, their conversation today was light, interesting and engaging. Makoto was envious of Laurent’s ability to switch his topics and conversation style whenever he talked to different people. It was **the** ‘people skill’—not the ‘people skill’ his co-workers praise him to have. It was all fake (the attention he gives others, the interests in the same topics, etc).

“Yeah, I do know a thing or two. Why?” He felt a pang of disappointment in him. He had wanted to get a drink at a normal bar, continuing their conversation… or at least a coffee before heading back home. It was still 8 in the evening. The sun had just set, but street lights and neon lights had long taken over the darkness. People were still on and about on the streets, so, to be honest, visiting a cabaret club wasn’t an unpopular decision at this point of time. However, Makoto never liked cabaret clubs. He didn’t like unknown women pawing at his clothes (seemingly begging for his money).

Makoto has visited a few establishments and is even in touch with their business owners. However, he had always visited one in the presence of his clients or colleagues. They loved it there. The attention, the booze, the pretty girls… all things they didn’t have in their big mansions they own. Their wives govern what they eat, wear and spend. But with the ‘company card’, they could do whatever they wanted to. Bottles costing half a million would be popped open on special occasions, hostesses would get special treatment during their ‘after hours’ and excessive gifts would fill their table. His colleagues would ask him why he doesn’t bother with all those— to which he replies he simply doesn’t have any interest. They chalked it up to him having too high standards and left him alone. No one assumed he was gay.

“Let’s visit one. Whichever you think is the best.” Laurent said. He paid for the bill naturally, avoiding Makoto’s offer to foot the bill instead.

“Uh, sure.” Makoto sighed inwardly, trying hard to hide his disappointment. A place like a male cabaret club would be more up his lane, but Laurent was here with him and it was plain as day that the blonde man was straight as a pin.

The neon pink sign reading ‘Cat’s Whiskers’ shone brightly in their faces as they stood outside the streets of Kabuki-cho. Despite it being the red light district, people were still out and about—and quite a number of them actually. Hosts and hostesses all stood outside their respective shops, inviting people in, handing out fliers. The shadier ones of the bunch even coercing innocent men or women into their establishments. When Laurent and Makoto walked past, as if time stopped, people turned heads. It wasn’t uncommon for this area to have owners of clubs strolling the streets, looking out for beautiful people to recruit into their repertoire of hosts/hostesses. Laurent was one of a kind. With his tall stature and lean body, even a trash bag would look stylish on him. His face was handsome— more of a high fashion model look, but nonetheless, breathtaking. Without saying, Laurent was stopped multiple times on the way to Cat’s Whiskers. Either for recruitment purposes or for the sake of having such a high spec customer visiting their shop. No doubt foreigners were common on the famous streets of kabuki-cho and they were typically coveted as customers that had a loose grip on their wallets, but having Laurent in their shop would attract a whole other load of customers vying to have a look at the man himself.

Makoto had felt dejected entering the streets lined with cabaret clubs, but was more than _ecstatic_ to finally enter a shop to avoid all the looks **he** had been getting. Makoto himself knew he was average—at most, a little higher than average when it came to looks, but standing beside Laurent, he wouldn’t even be considered. Despite wearing the same type of expensive clothes, it looked cheap on him. The envious stares he has gotten from females… and some males (?) felt gross on his skin. Is his life being threatened?

“Let’s get in.” Makoto hurriedly pulled Laurent along. The younger male hadn’t noticed he was holding the French man’s arm, but the latter had a silly grin on his face. Laurent was half sure about Makoto’s sexual orientation at this point. During dinner, their ankles and shins were touching—rubbing (at times), but he had to be 100% sure. Though, at this point, he didn’t really care about the $8 million anymore. Makoto was fun to spend time with—addictive even. Noticing the warm touch of the younger male on his arm excited him more than it should.

The club they went into was one that Makoto frequents with his work acquaintances. The owner of the club was Makoto’s close friend, since the man knows the young male would always brings valuable income, he treats Makoto with special care.

The interior was classy— unlike he lower end ones in the area. It was strictly RSVP and members only. Makoto fished out his gold card, flashing it at the employee at the reception area. Ironic, since he never spends much (which was the requirement for the card), it was always mainly the people he brings that dish out the cash. Gold card members were the 2nd to highest. Cat’s Whiskers was a place based on merits and cash spent. The more frequent you come and the more you spent, points will be automatically calculated into the card given to members. To become one, a recommendation has to be from one of the managers as well as a member. It was easy getting a card for Makoto, since he was friends with most of the managers, he had a short cut in. _Bribing_ is the key to a successful relationship.

The employee, seeing the gold card, widened his eyes as he quickly bowed to Makoto and Laurent.

“Let me show you to your seats!” He squeaked. The young man in front of them was in his early 20s, with Makoto being slightly older. Probably new in the shop, he was nervous as he fumbled with the i-Pad that served as a menu that could enable ordering remotely. He led them to their table on the 2nd floor of the establishment. Most of the tables were private, shielded with black tinted glass, noises could be heard from the tiny spaces, but their identities kept secret. The young receptionist guided the 2 to a bigger area. It was a private room (instead of partitioned tables), it looked like a karaoke room. With plush leather seats lining the wall, a glass table was situated in the middle of the room. The walls of the private room were filled with small paintings and awards the shop has won. Two speakers hung on ceilings at the corners of the room and a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall next to the door.

“Thank you,” Laurent thanked the young receptionist and as if tranced, the recipient to his gratitude stared open mouthed at the blonde man—heart eyes evident on his face.

Makoto cleared his throat, snapping the receptionist out of trance.

“Uh, sorry! This is the menu, there are drinks, food and also, you can choose from the variety of hostesses we have.” The young man handed them the i-pad before closing the door behind him and running back to his post in a fluster.

Makoto gave a shaky laugh before sliding into the seat.

“Shall we get a good bottle of… wine? Champagne? Or do you prefer a whiskey?” Laurent sat beside him—maybe a little too close. Makoto cleared his throat, edging away. Maybe, his new found friend was just a touchy-feely person… from their earlier under the table rendezvous. Laurent’s arm was close to his, legs spread open carelessly under the table, his knee was touching Makoto’s.

“Hmm…?” Laurent leaned close to hear Makoto’s answer. The latter could feel his heart thumping against his chest as he scooted away once again. Whenever he came with his counterparts, they would always sit far apart, women would flank their sides. Was this how Americans (or was he French?) sit together? Or was this Laurent Carrington’s… quirk? As Makoto pondered over the blonde man’s confusing behaviour, a knock came from the door before it swung open.

“Ah! Mr Harada!” A strawberry blonde girl poked her head in. She was pretty—probably the prettiest of them all… according to list in the i-pad (was what Laurent was thinking). She had a petite heart shaped face framing her soft doll-like features. Even though she had sparkly brown contacts in, she doesn’t look like one of those beady squirrel eyed girls (gyarus). Her makeup wasn’t thick, unlike the stereotype. Her sparkly pink lips curved into a pretty smile as she entered the room.

“Oh, Misaki…” Makoto said (slightly dejected). He was happy that someone came into the room and disrupted Laurent’s questionable advances towards him, but Misaki Hasegawa was always troublesome in Makoto’s eyes. If he knew she was working the shift today, he would have avoided the whole of kabuki-cho just to avoid the woman. Simply put, Misaki was in love with Makoto but Makoto had no interest in the opposite sex. Whenever Makoto would visit the establishment, Misaki—being the number one hostess in the shop, would drop all her clients and dash straight to Makoto’s private room, as if, if she left him alone, Makoto would get snatched up by some other girl. Misaki would make it quite obvious to everyone she likes him by literally sitting on top of him (which in Makoto’s opinion scares the living shit out of him) and making sure none of her colleagues could even set their sights on the young Japanese male. Vicious or not, was others to decide. However, people’s scalding comments didn’t stop her.

“Oh, who’s this?” Laurent asked, this time, his hand brushed past the top of Makoto’s knee, causing the younger male to freeze up.

“A-ah! She’s Misaki Hasegawa… the top hostess of this shop. D-do you want her…?” He asked, the last part of his sentence a little desperate. He was hoping Laurent would take up his deal on taking on that female monster. Makoto swears if he lets his guard down, his entire fortune, his organs and life would get snatched up by that nine-tailed fox. He was sure of it. Misaki whined, upset with his earlier question toward the blonde man while climbing towards Makoto. She was wearing a low top, her breasts nearly spilling out of her clothing—but Makoto paid no attention, and the clever girl knew the man she was out to get wouldn’t fall for such petty tricks.

She sat on the other side of Makoto, wrapping her legs around the innocent Japanese man’s right leg. Makoto could only gulp as he sat in between 2 very dangerous people. Laurent wasn’t giving up on his advances—tactless and unintentional or not, he was stirring Makoto’s inner desires, while Misaki, on the other hand was scaring him. She was very intentional with her touches. Her fingers brushing the inner thighs of the young male as she reaches over him for the i-pad.

“Let’s order some drinks.” She suggested, her face so close to Makoto, he could taste her sweet, warm breath.

“Y-yeah! L-Laurent, what would you like?” Makoto’s voice cracked, in which he just cleared his throat repeatedly.

“Well, let’s just get the whiskey. Misaki, order the best one the shop has—and bring in some of your friends.” Laurent smiled. Makoto thought the dazzling beam would have blinded Misaki and somehow throw her off of him, but unexpectedly, the fish still held on to the bait, her relentless grip on him suffocating the innocent Japanese man.

“Alrighty!” She grinned and bounced away to wherever she came from.

The momentary break from the nine-tailed fox let Makoto have space to breathe. He heaved a sigh of relief, the hand placed on his left thigh by Laurent unnoticed.

Laurent could only chuckle under his breath, recalling a certain page of the small booklet he had been reading on the plane. _What was it?_

‘Ah! なるほど ( **I see** )’

Unless the French man was blind, it was incontestable Edamura Makoto was **gay**.

And it only means one thing… ‘ _Oh merde…’_


	4. Let's commence the plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is on the shorter side, but hope you enjoy today's update!

**Ding!**

Cythia groaned as she raised her head from a pillow. The sheer amount of pillows on her bed made it look like a huge cloud. Her body sunk deep in the mass, disappearing within one’s sight. She fumbled around for a minute, low key panicking as she tried to find her way out through the mass of pillows. Where was her phone? Her alarm should have rung hours ago—judging from the glaring white light that streamed in through the gaps of the curtain, but the only thing that woke her up from her drunken slumber was a phone notification.

“Shit,” The beautiful woman cursed as she rolled off the bed, her phone finally on hand. Her head was pounding from yesterday’s drinking. If she remembered correctly, she had visited the hotel bar on the 4th floor. After spending some time with a Japanese man she met there and having a drinking competition with him, she stumbled back to the hotel suite only to be greeted with Abbie’s disgruntled look—from getting the door at the crack of dawn.

She tapped her phone screen to wake it, seeing the pile of notifications on her phone. Some were from her lovers from all over the world, some were advertisement emails (she finds very irritating), and the one on the top was a venmo payment notification. A grin spread on her face, as she unlocked her phone, bathing in the glow of $4 million transferred from her colleague. She cackled in her hotel room alone and dropped her phone back on the bed… and dozed off once again.

…

“I’m changing my plans girls!” Laurent tapped his wine glass with a butter knife. They were visiting a modern fusion French-Japanese cuisine restaurant. A special treat Cynthia booked earlier that day (after she finally made it out of bed) for the fresh $4 million in her bank. Abbie was in a good mood too, finally getting Laurent to admit he was in the wrong, she had went on a shopping spree in Nihonbashi—acquiring a beautiful new baseball bat.

“Told you he’s gay.” Cynthia shrugged.

“No, you didn’t. You just speculated.”

“She was mostly sure though.” Abbie added in.

“We’re starting our plan soon. But this time, it won’t be Abbie doing the work. It’ll be me.”

“Oh, finally.” Abbie rolled her eyes defiantly at her colleague. Even though Laurent was always good at coming up with plans, for the past few cons, he had been taking the backseat. Laurent was still important in the operation (without him, Cynthia and Abbie would definitely face troubles) but everyone loves and put down their guards in front pretty ladies—especially the old men drunk of power the confidence team always targets.

“I’ll be meeting him tonight… For a drink back in the hotel.”

“A different room?” Cynthia asked.

“Yeah. I’m guessing we’ll be a little intimate tonight.”

“HEY! Keep it in your pants, we don’t need things getting messy.” Abbie snapped. Laurent Thierry was never a man that could keep his junk out of matters. Simply put, he was loose. Men and women alike, had laid with him. Abbie would sometimes see strings of both genders exiting her colleague’s bedroom, a little too rosy and satisfied. She never said much about it, but she didn’t like it when Laurent gets his horny testosterones in the way of a con. It puts the team in jeopardy, and as much as she loves Laurent (in a platonic manner—she would injure someone for the sake of Laurent), she didn’t want to lose her only source of revenue. They weren’t doing something legal after all.

“Fine, fine. I won’t do anything. It’s just a little baiting to set the stage.” Laurent pulled a long face, going back to his steak seasoned in Japanese ginger. The dinner was delicious… but not as exquisite as compared with what’s to come.

…

They were both in much more casual clothing as they sat at the hotel’s bar. It was weekday, so not much people were frequenting bars, club and the sorts. The ambience was calming, with a light, playful jazz playing in the background, Makoto and Laurent both had their guards slightly lowered. Makoto grinned as he recognised the new jazz song that filtered through the bar’s speakers. He had a martini in front of him, half drunk. The olives were put aside on the paper napkin provided.

“You don’t like olives?” Laurent pointed out at the Japanese man’s bizarre act. Why order a martini if you don’t like olives?

“I don’t. I like the taste of it, but I hate pickled mushy stuff.” The young male shuddered at the thought of the texture of green olives. Laurent laughed as he shifted his weight in the chair, leaning towards his companion.

“How’s work?” The blonde asked.

“Oh, nothing much. It’s quite boring with a bunch of old men talking and talking… and talking.”

“Well, it’s good! People are leaving my law firm. Everyone’s getting poached left and right. I’m scared things are not doing so well for me right now.” Laurent sighed, sipping his margarita. He let his knee gently hit the sides of Makoto’s, but instead of moving away, the Japanese male moved his knee towards him, pushing back—as if playing a game of tug-of-war.

“Are you going to hire new people? Why is everyone leaving?” Makoto frowned, wondering if the CEO of B* law firm knew. Makoto hadn’t had the time to look into the Carringtons’ law firm, but with a quick google search there were no bad news of the company lately. From the company’s website, it could be inferred that they were doing more than ‘just good’. Makoto couldn’t help but feel a little envy creep inside of him. If he could take a position in that company, he would be swimming in millions of dollars right now. Though, getting a visa for America with a fake identity would be easier said than done. He had heard the checks were even _more_ relentless since identity theft runs rampant in the states.

“When the chairman isn’t doing well, people will start to think the company’s unstable. It hasn’t been made public yet, but I… I don’t know what I’m doing with the company lately.” Laurent sighed, he downed his margarita, the sour alcoholic beverage stung his throat and made tears come to his eyes (he was an expert in bringing up tears at will). Laurent moved his hand over Makoto’s taking the smaller hand in his, he looked the Japanese man in the eyes.

“You’re so talented and young. If I’m like you, the company would be in a better place.” Laurent bit his lip, which stirred a wanton desire inside of Makoto. The blonde man’s lips were so full and pink, Makoto could only imagine them wrapped around his cock— Makoto immediately shook that thought of his head. It must be the martini. Do they put more vodka shots in the drink at this bar compared to other places? Makoto couldn’t believe he was slightly drunk from just one drink. He looked at Laurent’s reddened cheeks. His teary eyes were downcast, his eyelashes so long that it brushes the top of the man’s cheekbones.

“No, don’t say that. These few days, we’ve bonded so much. I’d even call you a close friend. I know what you’re capable of. You told me what you do as a chairman of such a big company, I’m shocked you manage to do it so perfectly. And plus juggling family life, you’re amazing.” Makoto moved his hand from under Laurent’s to the man’s shoulders. He let his hand slide down to the French man’s back, rubbing circles as he soothes the older man. Makoto had leaned in close, his face only inches apart from Laurent’s.

The blonde man could only swallow as he sees the cute brown haired man in front of him. If he could, he’d take those pretty lips right now. He’d slam his petite body against the black glass bar and start making out—dry humping against those stiff dark jeans covering those delicious legs… and _plump ass_. However, Abbie’s words seemed to shove their way into his head, reminding him not to go **too far**.

“I’m not. I’m not perfect, Makoto. My family is falling apart. My wife is having an affair with another man because I don’t spend enough time with her and my daughter… she’s rebellious. Earlier this year, she dropped out of school herself and flew to Mexico alone! I love them… but… It’s tiring.” He fessed, sniffing a little to play into the part of a damsel in distress. He let out a shaky breath, breathing in Makoto’s sharp flowery cologne.

Makoto didn’t speak. He was too entranced by the sight of the beautiful man in despair. His lips were trembling, shoulders hunched over. Makoto leaned closer, their lips brushing against each other. No one dared to made the first move. Both of their heads were empty for a moment. Each of their own selfish motivations put on hold, the sexual tension between the 2 of them lingered in the air, heavy and suppressive.

“I— I should…” Makoto broke out of his trance, pulling away. He removed his hands from Laurent’s back, pulling back his knee as he shifted a little further away in his seat. Makoto didn’t know what was going on in his head earlier—it was completely empty. When he caught a whiff of Laurent’s sweet margarita scented breath and his musky cologned scent, he felt an unexplainable heat in his groins. He was so close to kissing the French man, but he felt so far away, estranged from the perfect being in front of him. Thoughts of the spoilt brat came into his head. He **couldn’t** do it to her. Abigail was still young. He didn’t like her, but who would be so cruel as to ruin an adopted teenage girl’s family that she has just been adopted in to? Even if it was for in own sexual inclination's sake, he couldn’t do it (furthermore, despite having an inkling that Laurent might be bisexual, Makoto could never beat Cynthia in terms of looks).

“Um… yeah.” Laurent breathed out. He sighed through his nose, shaking off earlier’s… encounter. Their relationship certainly had more to it than just friends (a made up relationship or not), Laurent felt something. His hand moved to the ring that hung around his neck, a pang of guilt and pain spreading through him like watercolour diffusing on a canvas. He looked to their unfilled glasses as well as the slowly emptying bar. It was high time they part ways… for the night at least. Laurent told himself he needed the short break from the man he was forbidden to touch.


	5. As if we are Romeo & Juliet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, once again. Updated a few hours early, because yesterday's chapter was short! Do anyone read my notes? XD Anyways, this chapter is slightly juicy-and the subsequent chapters are just gonna be a rollercoaster ride.  
> And yesterday, I was already working on a new fic, probably an ABO AU of Case #1, but I finally took the time to watch through the whole ED song, and I realised, it was Laurent and Dorothy hugging each other, after Dorothy reached home to their shared apartment. TT Tbh Dorothy's debut would be next season, and a lot of things will change for the ship of LaurentxMakoto. (plus, from The Great Pretender song by freddie mercury, it's a song about breakup where the woman has left him, so... it's highly likely either Dorothy's dead or they split ways-thus starting Laurent's journey as a confidence man because from the ED, both of them shared an apartment, and it didn't look like they were rich or anything)

Makoto stared remorseful at the scrunched up tissue papers on his bed. Even though he lived in such a big apartment, his bed was still a single bed, tucked into the corner of his bedroom. Edamura Makoto had no one to bring over anyways, therefore, a bigger bed would be redundant and just a painful reminder he was still single after his last horrible breakup years ago. His underwear was on the floor, his legs spread apart as a bottle of lube and sex toys strewn carelessly on the bed. He had just thought of the blonde man while touching himself.

‘For god’s sake, he’s a married man!’ Makoto thought immediately after he ejaculated his fluids into the scrunched up tissues. The haze from his wanton sexual tension cleared up promptly after he managed to release his horniness—through none other than sticking things up himself and ejaculating while thinking of the married man pounding and grinding his privates inside of him. And only guilt and shame was left. Like a beautiful sea wave on the shore, it brought the water up high, only to crash down and leave some dirty dead fish on the wet sand.

He groaned, throwing the tissues off his bed as well as pushing the sex toys that were in him away, only to bury himself in his duvet. It has been 4 days since his meeting with Laurent and he had been touching himself every night since. He was never someone with a high sex drive, but after meeting that gorgeous man, he would find himself daydreaming about how the man would look under his tailored suit.

His colleagues had been worried about him, chalking his dazed looks up to his lack of a significant other and even offered to visit another cabaret club… as if Makoto’s list of headaches weren’t enough, he wasn’t intending to add another one—especially not one which involves a nine-tailed fox.

Without warning, his phone rang, the default ringtone he never bothered to change. He clicked his tongue, hoping it wasn’t one of this stupid subordinates calling him about the job. He would always have to act like the ‘caring and nurturing senpai’ to those idiots, and he hated every moment of it. The screen showed the caller ID and it was Laurent Carrington. Makoto almost fell out of bed. It was already 12 midnight… what was the head of Carrington law firm calling him for?

“H-hello?” Makoto gulped, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He was lying flat on his stomach, half naked. Makoto believed that if he were to have Laurent’s voice so close to his ear, he wouldn’t have to sleep for the night.

“Hello? M-Makoto?” An urgent voice came from the other end. Laurent’s voice was shaky, the background far too quiet for a man that had a family.

“Laurent? What’s wrong?” Makoto got up, pushing off the duvets.

“Makoto… I don’t know what to do! This is bad… they are trying to throw me overboard. They are trying to take my company away! I don’t want to! I built this company from scratch… It took me… it took me 10 whole years! And they are taking it away!” A choked sob came through the line.

“W-what? Laurent? Are you alright? No, who’s ‘they’?”

“The board of directors—the—the shareholders! They… they want to kick me out! I did only what’s best… Makoto… what do I do?” Makoto pursed his lips as he listened to the cries of the older man on the other side. On one hand, he really wanted to comfort his friend, but on the other, he could smell a money-making opportunity. The smell of cash was wafting from the other end of the line. It could jeopardise their relationship, but contrarily, if he manages to pull it off secretly, he could still stand a chance to retain their friendship—if the time where Laurent find out about his scheme comes, he’d just return everything to the man and disappear.

Carrington law firm could be his.

“Laurent.”

“Y-yes?”

“Do you need help?” Makoto’s voice was quiet. He was trying hard to not let his emotions show.

“I—I couldn’t… Makoto… I don’t know what to do. The company’s rapidly losing money. It’s all hidden from the public but if I don’t liquidate my assets, the—the company could…” Another choke could be heard from the older man.

“Come over. I know your wife and kid are in the hotel, so… things wouldn’t turn out good if I head over… at this timing.” The brown haired male said solemnly. He looked across the room to the clock on the wall. Laurent would arrive in an hour—1 am. He had to ring up the security office to let the man in as well as prepare the papers. He walked over to his computer on the study desk, switching the machine on.

“O-okay. Send me the address, I’ll drive over.” Laurent sniffled through his words.

“Sure, drive safely. Don’t cry while driving, it’s dangerous.” Makoto reminded him gently, before cutting the call. The young man sighed. He had to put aside his emotions for this job. He never thought he’d ever be feeling guilt for trying to scam a person. Was Laurent more special to him than he realised? They had bonded over the same genre of music and ate good food together… however, that was all. Other than the man’s odd touchy-feely antics, they were just work acquaintances—even the title of ‘friends’ was stretching it. But Makoto felt close to the blonde man. Closer than anyone else in his life at the moment. Wasn’t it ironic? Laurent was close to the man named Harada Makoto, not Edamura Makoto, yet the latter felt affection towards the older male.

Makoto opened up an encrypted folder filled with templates of paperwork ranging from agreements to transfer assets, agreements for revenue transference to paperwork on merging businesses. He had several types of shady documents. It was easy tricking people to sign an agreement they didn’t agree to by having one of the most important agreements as a hidden clause. People often disregard the thick stack of papers and put their trust on the glib mouthed Makoto. With a friendly handshake and a handsome smile, Makoto could bankrupt them and simply cut ties by changing his identity. Clearly, Laurent would be too emotional to even read the papers. Makoto filled in the template, making it look like an agreement to transfer him a percentage of Laurent Carrington’s stocks in exchange for Makoto’s financial help. If Makoto could offer up a few millions but earn billions, why not? A few millions wouldn’t even affect his unlimited bank account.

Soon after, the security rung Laurent Thierry up to the 25th floor. Makoto had changed into his loungewear—a grey t-shirt with matching sweatpants. His contacts replaced with thick framed glasses. He greeted the anxious red-eyed French man that came in in a hurry.

“Makoto!” Laurent broke down crying again. His lips were quivering as he sat— more like, collapsed on Makoto’s white Italian leather sofa.

“L-Laurent… How are you feeling?” Makoto sat down beside Laurent, close enough to give him a hug. The older male accepted his advance and buried his face into the crook of Makoto’s neck. The young male could feel the wetness of the blonde man’s tears seeping through his thin night shirt. He placed a hand on Laurent’s back, patting and smoothing over the shaking man. For a man this age, one would expect… less crying. However, it wasn’t like Makoto was against it or even disliked it. He found it slightly endearing that the man cherished their relationship so much so that he’d come crying into Makoto’s arms. It’d make his con so much easier— but that didn’t sit well with his conscience.

“No one believes me… I was framed! I— I don’t know why, but all of a sudden, everything just started falling, the whole board was talking behind my back and they want to… kick me out. I heard the names they call me! I feel…” He wailed melodramatically at the end, his arms that were wrapped around the Japanese man tightened.

“It’s okay, Laurent. If you don’t want to tell me everything, it’s okay. It’s your private company after all. But, I can help you.”

“R-Really?” For the first time ever since Laurent sat down, he looked into Makoto’s eyes. His face was a mess. His eyes were blood shot from crying, snot ran down his nose and his cheeks a ruddy red as if he’d been slapped. Makoto couldn’t help but chuckle as he reached out to wipe the man’s salty tears from his cheeks.

“Yes. I can help you.” He brushed the blonde man’s fringe away from his eyes. Those surreal sapphire pupils stared into Makoto’s mud brown orbs. They were so different, but they were so close. Laurent’s lips parted—and before any one of them could say anything, the two of them leaned it at the same time, connecting their lips.

Fireworks burst and exploded within Makoto as he chuckled against the older man’s lips. His mouth tasted salty from the tears and snot. The both of them clung to each other like their lives depended on it. Laurent was pushing so hard, Makoto was trying to keep himself sitting up right. If he were to get pushed down by the blonde man, his plans, his fake agreement papers would have to all go down the drain tonight. Makoto didn’t let Laurent’s tongue in. He accidentally let out a whimper as he pushed the bigger statured man away.

“Let’s stop here for today, Laurent.” Makoto breathed hard. He looked over to the French man. Laurent wasn’t taking it easy either. His blood shot eyes blinked hard as his shoulders heaved up and down. Both of them had adrenaline and dopamine rushing through their veins. Makoto licked his lips after making sure the man he’d kissed wasn’t looking at his direction.

“H-here, Laurent. These are the papers I’ve prepared. I’ll help you gain back your company losses. You can use the money I’m giving you to build it up once again, but in return, you’ll have to give me a percentage of **your** shares. How’s that?” Makoto pushed the thick stack of documents towards the man sitting beside him with a shaky hand.

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Laurent’s reply felt like he had used a knife to dig deep into Makoto’s open wound.

“Yeah! Of course, Laurent. I know you’re an amazing man.” Makoto placed a hand on Laurent’s knee, rubbing it rather intimately—well, they did share a kiss. Laurent Carrington blushed not rejecting the brown haired male’s touch.

Makoto could only smile as he saw Laurent Carrington, the owner and Chairman of Carrington law firm sign the obviously fraudulent papers—and for once, he wasn’t feeling happy about it.

…

_Clink, clink!_

The sound of wine glasses clinking against each other filled the joyous atmosphere in the hotel suite. The confidence team had room service in front of them on a tray, beautifully set up with candles, crystalware and flowers. The wine was popped and glasses of wine were already drunk before they could start on the food. Abbie was busying herself with the hotel’s famous lasagne while Laurent and Cynthia were leaning against the balcony’s railings with their white wine in their hands. Cynthia was more of a red wine type of gal, but since they were celebrating Laurent’s feats tonight, she gave in. Laurent sipped the dry wine, letting it sit in his mouth before swallowing the tasteful alcohol. It smelt divine since it had been aged since 2010.

“Aren’t you glad you went on that dinner with him?” Cynthia asked in a teasing manner. She looked out to the city skyline. Even though the sun had set long ago, the city was still noisy. Sirens would often pass by and even rowdy teenagers that had stayed out a little too late could be heard from the balcony.

“Well, we did acquire $38 million…” Laurent sighed.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been dejected ever since you came back that night. Even when you ordered Mark to get in contact with Makoto to make sure that Japanese doesn’t suspect anything, you were all wishy-washy!”

“Cynthia… I’m not glad I went out for that dinner with him.” Laurent had an unreadable expression on his face. He was never one to reveal his true emotions much, nor disclose any of his personal information even to his colleagues. The truth was, he had started to fall in love with their Japanese target. As much as his whole existence rejects the fact, his heart ached whenever he saw the man. Did Romeo and Juliet feel this way? Edamura Makoto was still clueless about his situation—if he knew, would Makoto look into Laurent’s eyes the same way, with such tenderness?

“Don’t. I already told you. Don’t let your emotions get in the way. You don’t want to end up like…” Cynthia let herself trail off, before abruptly turning away. She headed back into the hotel suite, leaving the French man out alone in the cold night air.

The light breeze brought chills to people’s bones, but it didn’t affect Laurent. The blonde man downed the remaining wine he had and he looked around him. He could live in such a nice hotel suite, have 2 of his beautiful, trustworthy companions all because of his actions. He always promised the 2 of them—and himself, that he’d succeed. Nothing could get in his way… and this time, he wasn’t planning to let his feelings get in the way. _If he could_ , at least.

It still wasn’t enough.


	6. Cinderella's limited edition sports car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy today's update! This chapter is nearing the climax, which is chapter 7! We'll be finishing with a conclusion at chapter 8! Yay, we're nearing the end :3 I'm working on another AU fic, though I don't know whether to post it or not. It's about ABO based off on Case 1 in LA. I probably won't post any time soon (perhaps after this ends and after I write out everything.) it'll follow each episode-so, around 5 chapters?

Makoto was relishing in his new found wealth (not knowing it was all a mirage). His brand new car hummed in delight as he drove through the streets of Tokyo. Heads turn as he pass by, most of them were envious stares. Even though sports car were not that well-known by all in Japan, the sleek exterior and bright colours made everyone fall in love at first sight. Not many knew the price of the car driving pass by them of course. If any regular civilian were to find out how much stacks of money filled briefcases this car costs, they would faint (who could even drive near it, in fear of accidentally crashing or scratching the beaut?) Edamura Makoto was feeling more than happy. He had made an international call over to America, confirming the transfer details had gone smoothly. No news of the new owner was spread in public or to the board of directors and shareholders, but Makoto believed he’d release the information once the time is right… and indubitably, Laurent Carrington would be out of his life. Makoto tried not to think so much about that.

He was heading towards Laurent’s hotel to celebrate Laurent’s comeback. It had been a few days since and there were no calls from the blonde man he had donated his money to— Makoto had almost thought the French man had found out, however, a call came in from Laurent, inviting him over to the hotel’s restaurant for dinner. A huge sigh of relief could only escape his body as he agreed hurriedly.

If he were to play his cards right, he’d get a little more than just food inside of him for tonight.

“Makoto! Over here!” Laurent waved his hand to beckon the Japanese male over. The restaurant was moderately filled and Laurent sat amongst the diners, in the middle of the restaurant.

“Good evening, Laurent.” Makoto flashed a smile. Before he sat down, he placed a kiss on Laurent’s temple. If anyone were to see them, they’d think those 2 were a couple—and not a married man with a business acquaintance. A blush crept up on the blonde man’s face as he reached over the table to take Makoto’s hand.

The brown haired male’s fingers twitched as he saw the silver band still around the other man’s ring finger. The cold silver stung him in contrast to the blonde man’s warm palms.

“Makoto, thank you so much… Everything has been good so far.”

“T-that’s glad to hear.” Makoto placed his other hand on top of Laurent’s, trying to pull the touchy man off. The ring only reminded the younger male of the blunt reality. The man in front of him was a married man (straight—but perhaps, only confused when they shared that rendezvous kiss). Laurent Carrington was the owner of Carrington law firm until Makoto wrenched his belonging out of his hand. He never felt guilty tricking those idiotic old men before, why now? Thinking about getting into Laurent Carrington’s pants was even laughable.

“The shareholders and directors are keeping quiet right now. Sorry for not contacting you for the past few days… It’s just been endless work and trying to tie up the frayed ends.” Laurent’s thumb rubbed the Japanese male’s hand.

“W-well, it is understandable. It’s good if everything’s fine.” He yanked his hand out of the French man’s touch as if he was scalded all of a sudden. A look of shock flashed past Laurent’s face but it disappeared as soon as it came. His hands clenched into fists as he hid them under the table—giving a dapper smile to the man sitting opposite of him.

“I heard you like pasta, so I got the chef to whip up something original. I hope you’ll like it.” He took the wine bottle that was sitting in a tub of ice and poured his companion a glass.

“I’m sure I will.” Makoto said. Their conversation felt like something out of an English textbook. Stiff and dry, their previous discourse on jazz, food and art felt difficult to bring up. It wasn’t just Makoto, he could feel Laurent had some reservations too. Both of them had tucked in their legs, not playing their under the table footsies anymore. Was it because of the stress…? Or does he know? Makoto thought. He really hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Soon enough, the waiter brought out their food. Even though such colourful pieces of art were laid in front of them, both men ate their food in silence. Laurent—who was an expert in conversations, kept his mouth shut. The food tastes bland on their tongues as if they were robbed of their tastebuds as well as their ability to speak.

It looked like an awkward bad first date. The kiss Makoto had given Laurent on his temples from earlier still burned. The French man couldn’t help but let his hand brush against that spot countless of times, even messing up his immaculate hair. A tendril fell into his eyes but that didn’t bother him as much as the younger male sitting across him. He was looking down, staring intensely at his food while he shovelled pasta into his mouth. Both of them were hastily eating, downing the wine bottle quick enough to get slightly dizzy.

“Laurent,” Makoto was shaking. He gripped the fork in his hand to stop himself.

“Yes…?”

“Why… Did something happen?”

“What? N-no! There’s nothing!” Laurent peeled his eyes away from Makoto’s deep, honest brown pupils. He took the wine bottle, emptying the last drops of it into his wine glass before quenching his suddenly parched throat. He singled the waiter to bring another— something much stronger than just his favourite white wine.

“Then, why are we like this?” Makoto asked.

Both of them stared at each other, silent. They had words they wanted to speak, but had other interests in mind inhibiting the words they so desperately want to say to each other. As if a cat got their tongue, they just accepted the waiter’s newly brought bottle of whiskey. It wasn’t even a bar, but the 2 men drank… and drank… and drank. Both of them had thought if they were to drink, maybe the conversation would go smoother and they would forget their conflicting emotions dwelling inside of them.

Laurent brought his feet up Makoto’s thighs caressing the younger male’s inner thighs—he was clearly drunk. His breath smelt like whiskey, along with the flushed redness on his cheeks and forehead, those were clear telltale signs he wouldn’t be able to remember the night’s happenings tomorrow morning. Makoto emptied his own glass, swatting the man’s feet away rather roughly. He wasn’t clear headed—but was smart enough to not let anything happen before it goes too far.

“Stop.” He said—but it came out more of a slur.

“Mm… Makoto, let me ask you back that question. Why are we like this?” Laurent didn’t let Makoto’s rejection stop him. He brought his feet up again, this time nudging the other man’s crotch. A gasped escaped the younger male’s lips as if trying to grasp reality, he gripped the sides of his chairs as he felt the tip of the provocative man’s dress shoe prod against his privates. It wasn’t odd that he was already half-hard.

“Laurent… we’re in public.” The man hissed, but didn’t do anything to stop the mischievous blonde man.

“Oh, Makoto. Who cares? I’ll buy their silence. All of ‘em.” The French man’s voice was silky and smooth like velvet but sticky and sweet like honey. A tiny giggle escaped from the drunk man’s lips as he leaned his head against his own hand, propping his head up.

“Laurent. We can’t do this.” Makoto grunted to keep down a moan stifling in his chest. His privates were uncomfortably pressed against his tight formal pants.

“Oh… we can. I have another empty room apart from my family’s. If Cynthia can cheat… so can I.” Laurent didn’t know what he was saying. His identity now in the grey area of Laurent Carrington and Laurent Thierry. He slapped a hand over his mouth trying to stop his drunk slurs—as if that would help. If he were to speak anymore, things might start to get messy.

Edamura Makoto stood up all of a sudden. Abbie’s face had popped up into his mind once again. To be honest, he could see himself in the young girl. They both turned to rebellion to gain their parents love. His father—turned out to be horrible scum, so his happy family was short lived… but he didn’t want Abigail to return home to an empty house. If he stole Laurent away from Cynthia and Abigail, he was no better than his father. He’d be _breaking_ Abigail. Moreover, Laurent Carrington and Harada Makoto were impossible. Makoto would have to change his name once everything gets out in the open.

“Sorry, Laurent. I—I have to go. I’ll contact you soon.” Makoto left—literally running away, like Cinderella when the clock struck midnight. And like the beautiful fairytale, the blonde prince charming was left confused, abandoned… with a petite glass slipper— or in this case, Makoto’s brand new car keys.

…

The crystal glass shattered on the floor with a loud crash as everyone in the room kept their mouths shut. Cynthia’s lips were pressed tight in a line as she stared at both of her colleagues in front of her. It was currently 2 in the morning, and even though their hotel suite was the only one on the floor, she was sure their neighbours just one floor below them wouldn’t be too pleased waking up to a loud crash coming from their ceiling. She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. This was the first time she had seen her younger female friend this angry. Sure, the young girl was always hot tempered, but she wouldn’t do anything else other than let off her steam by having a string of curse words escape her mouth. This time, was a little different. The girl had a vein popped on her temple, with her teeth grinding together. No curse words came out from her mouth. You know, when you have a friend that loves cussing but when they don’t, it means things are getting serious? Cynthia couldn’t help but wish she could escape from this situation she was forcefully put in.

“You just can’t keep your dick in your pants, and now you want to back out? You want to just drop things right here and now?” Abbie growled. The table was luckily clear of glass—after she pushed the last one off the table.

“I’m sorry. I won’t take any of the money this time. You can split it between the two of you.” Laurent said, his voice small. He dug through his back pocket, getting out a black leather car key.

“This is his car… you can sell it or… do whatever.” Laurent placed the small item on the table with his shaky hands. He didn’t run after the younger male just now, even if he did, he would not be able to look him in the eye. If he were to look at those chocolate brown eyes, he would start crying and fessing up. He was sure Edamura Makoto wouldn’t like knowing he had been tricked into giving his ‘family’ and him money. What would Makoto even say to Laurent Thierry? Even if Makoto had feelings for Laurent, it wasn’t **him**. It was _Laurent Carrington_. The pitiful damsel in distress he swooped in to save with his—illegal money.

“Car? CAR?! Laurent, we can get another half a billion from that man— no, this isn’t about the money anymore! It’s about you! Why do you have to always fall in love and harm everyone in the process?” Abbie screamed.

“Abigail…” Cynthia cut in, she had wanted to step over the shards of glass on the floor to hold Abbie back before the petite female climbed over the table to strangle the blonde man but thought otherwise after seeing the glass vase behind her. She could only purse her lips and take a step back.

“I’m sorry Abbie. If you want me to leave, I will leave.” Laurent said, not looking the girl in the eye, he was staring hard at his fingers. His palms were sweaty, his fingers red from wringing them nervously too much. The ring on his finger had left a red dent mark on his hand, a painful reminder —he had ripped that accessory out as soon as he came from that drunk dinner with Makoto. He had seen the look on his dinner companion’s eyes when he realised the marriage band on his hand. Laurent didn’t know whether to take it out or just simply assure the Japanese male that his ' _marriage_ ’ was already falling apart—and fake anyways.

“I’ll leave. You can just go back into your safe little zone. Cry about your dumb feelings. You won’t be able to end up with Edamura Makoto. Remember that.” She spat out her words like venom.

Her bitter painful bidding seeped deep into Laurent. Abigail was right. He wouldn’t be able to end up with Edamura Makoto. He could not imagine a day they’d be hand in hand, walking down the cherry blossom filled streets. Laurent wished he could see the Japanese male’s sleepy smile as they wake up in each other’s embrace, under the warm sun shining through **their** apartment. The relationship was never possible because it only existed between 2 fictional made-up characters. Harada Makoto and Laurent Carrington. Maybe, in an alternative world, Laurent Carrington would divorce his wife, taking his child with him and entering a relationship with Harada Makoto. They would live their lives happily together, with Abigail Carrington—who would be showered with love by the couple…

But reality was oh so different.


	7. I'm wearing my heart like a crown

“Yeah… yes. Thank you.” Laurent got off the call with a heavy sigh before throwing his phone on the bed behind him. He had pictured his time in Japan to be filled with boisterous fun. The 3 of them would throw parties all night in their hotel suite. If he was feeling horny, he would just visit those love hotels foreigners love with a random chick… or stud he picked up at a local bar. He thought he’d get his hands easily on Edamura Makoto’s fortune and spend it all on booze and his favourite limited edition jazz albums. Maybe attend an auction for art after flying back to France. But here he is, sitting on the edge of his bed miserably after getting off a call from one of his connections from America.

Abigail Jones was still absent from the hotel suite they shared. Her room left untouched from yesterday’s debacle. The glass shards were still yet cleaned, making the whole hotel suite looked like it had been robbed. After Abbie stormed out of the hotel in a rage, Cynthia hadn’t said a word but retreated into her own room with a half drunk bottle of red wine in hand—she never liked confronting Laurent about his… issues. Even though she wasn’t the closest with Abbie, she had a shared understanding for Abigail. She understood why the girl was upset with their blonde colleague. It was **dangerous** … falling in love— especially with a target. Cynthia Moore was always the honey trap to their elaborate plans. She had met all kinds of guys, from young to old. Her looks were her biggest assets (that was why she had strict upkeep of her looks) however, no matter how close she would have to go with their targets, she kept her heart at a distance. Falling in love would mean foiling the entire plan, putting yourself and others at risk. To be honest, the red head didn’t expect Laurent to have such attraction towards the average Japanese target. He looked… average. Handsome in some people’s eyes, Laurent had laid eyes on much more beautiful people before. Perhaps, it was really fate that got those two tied up with each other.

A soft click sounded from Laurent’s door and the entrance swung open lightly. Cynthia’s red locks could easily be spotted from the small gap she had pocked her head in. Laurent had been far too quiet the entire day. Before noon— way before Cynthia would even wake up from her drunken slumber, Laurent would have already gotten out of his bed, ordering room service or trying to drag her and Abbie out of bed to go sightsee. However, she had woken up to a quiet hotel suite, the sun already setting. She walked out of her room, grimacing at the mess from last night and noticed Laurent’s closed door.

“Laurent,” She called, she tried to be as gentle as she could.

“Yes? You can come in.” The tired man spoke.

The red head stepped into the room meekly, looking around. Laurent’s bed was in a mess—and knowing he was the type to sleep like a log, she could deduce that he didn’t have a good nights sleep (and it was clear from the bags under his eyes).

“Laurent… What are you going to do?”

“What else? I’m not running away. You can relax and also call Abigail back. I won’t do it ever again.” The blonde man looked so dejected Cynthia couldn’t help but take a seat beside the man and give him a soft pat on the back, trying to cheer him up a little (though she knows it won’t work).

“You know… It’s understandable. Everyone falls in love—some even fall in love all of a sudden, like getting struck by a cupid’s bow. But…”

“I know. Cynthia.” Laurent snapped but immediately regretted his action. He bit back his tongue, chomping down on the sides of his cheeks, letting the pain be his punishment for acting so childish. Laurent wasn’t happy with himself. They had been working together for more than 6 years now and he knows Cynthia was just caring for him—but those words hurt at the moment. Piling on Abigail’s words from last night, it weighed on him, making his shoulders hunched forward.

“So, what’s your plan?” The woman had retracted her hand from the despondent man as if burnt. She had to remind herself Laurent was upset at the moment and he didn’t mean to act that way.

“I just contacted Mark to enact the next step of the plan… I’ll have to…” Laurent sighed. His words were strained, as if stuck in his throat.

“It’s okay if you can’t do it. I mean, what’s the point of having us if you can’t rely on us at times like these?”

“No, Cynthia. I have to do it.” Laurent said stubbornly. He had started this. It wouldn’t make sense for him to disappear and let Cynthia do all the work. Laurent was sure of Makoto’s and his own feelings for each other… whether it was just an imaginary relationship between 2 made up characters or not, those were real feelings and Laurent didn’t feel like it was right to just push them all away. Maybe it was his sympathy for the young Japanese male that still had no idea of who he (Laurent Thierry) was, but he wanted to be the one to end it. They were never fated to be together in the first place. Laurent knew it… and if Edamura Makoto found out about the scheme, he would know it too. Like star crossed lovers, they could only look at each other from their side of the world.

…

“Hello?” Makoto answered the phone, still groggy from last night’s fiasco. As if the glasses of wine and cups of whisky weren’t enough, after getting home in a taxi, he had brought out his entire collection of sake and downed them as if he were in a college frat drinking competition. He didn’t care if it was bitter or hurt his throat, he just drank until he had no recollection of what happened after his 2nd bottle. It was already amazing he hadn’t died from alcohol poisoning. Even though it was already night time when he was rudely awoken up by his phone’s blaring loud ringtone, his voice was still rough from all the alcohol he had consumed and he was still sporting a head splitting headache.

“Hello, this is Mark from Carrington law firm management department.”

Oh yes, he did just snatch away a company belonging to man he loved.

“So, what are you calling for?”

“We were dealing with the paperwork and it seems that we cannot transfer the ownership of Carrington law firm to Harada Makoto. Mr Edamura.” The voice on the end was smooth and cold, dealing the harsh strike to the young con artist. Makoto didn’t even know what to do. His eyes roamed around the house he lived in… well, not his—Harada Makoto’s. He blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings. Is he in a dream? He wracked his brains for last night’s ‘late night drinking’ session. Was he still drunk and hallucinating? He had come this far without anyone knowing the name of Edamura Makoto… so, will this be his undoing?

An exasperated breath escaped his chest. He couldn’t believe the situation he was in. Harada Makoto—no, Edamura Makoto cannot go down right now. Was this his karma? From stealing away a hard earned company Laurent Carrington had built from scratch? Makoto closed his eyes, feeling his temple throb in pain. It was as if Laurent Carrington was still in front of him. His beautiful long eyelashes framing those blue eyes that seemed so pretty like velvet. His moist pink lips moved as he talked, almost seducing the Japanese male to devour those full petals. Makoto let out a whimper as he felt the Laurent Carrington in his head touch his arm. The warm hand smoothed over his skin, leaving a blazing trail. Heat rushed to his face as Makoto was pulled harshly back to reality. He didn’t know when, but his phone was already across the room, screen cracked.

What was he doing?

‘This is all wrong.’ Makoto thought to himself. He gasped for air, trying to keep himself from getting a panic attack. Fuck Harada Makoto, **he** needed to get out of here. If he were to see Laurent Carrington, the truth would escape his lips immediately, and he couldn’t assure himself that Laurent would be happy about the situation. Heck, maybe the man already knew. If he had to face Laurent Carrington, Makoto would puke out his guts. Seeing the man he loved broken down by the truth scared him more than anything in the world— more than his past trauma of seeing his father on television.

He walked over to his phone… but it seemed like it was all too late.

Laurent’s caller ID lit up on the shattered screen as his phone let out a broken, haunting ringtone that sounded like nails to a chalkboard in Makoto’s ears.

…

A slap echoed throughout the huge penthouse apartment. Skin stung and blossomed ruddy red as Laurent’s hand burned. Makoto—as if his soul had left his body, was thrown onto the floor with no resistance at all. Laurent winced internally. He hadn’t meant for his slap to be that hard. He had just wanted to make the younger male get the purpose of his late night visit. However, clearly, the both of them were in no condition to even step out of the house. Laurent looked like he had come out from a zombie film. His pale skin lost its radiance and glow (he was always proud of), and instead of sporting blossoms of pink on his cheeks, he had dark eye circles instead, making his eyes look hollow. His eyes were teary and not something he was trying to force out. Instead, this time, he had to force them **in**. Makoto looked no better. His hair was sticky and matted to his forehead in sweat. He looked smaller compared to the last time Laurent laid his eyes on him. The blonde man couldn’t help but felt his heart clench in pain as he saw the young male in front of him… so… burnt out.

“I heard Mr Edamura… what have you done?” Laurent’s voice was shaking. He hadn’t meant to play the role of a vulnerable and hurt chairman that was betrayed by his friend. He wanted to be angry and scathing, but whenever he tried to square his shoulders to make himself appear bigger, he couldn’t. It hurt him to do so. But he **needed** to. In order for his plan to work.

“I’m sorry.” Edamura Makoto mumbled. He was pulling himself off the floor, a side of his face slightly swollen from Laurent’s backhanded slap. His lip had cracked, a tiny trail of blood dripping down his chin. He looked like he was in some kind of melodrama.

“Sorry? Mr Edamura. We have known each other for a couple of weeks now. Has all the things you’ve said to me, fake?” Laurent had his hands clenched into a fist. He felt like crying so bad but he couldn’t let himself. He prayed deep down that Makoto would answer ‘no’ to his question. Their relationship was messy from the start. Both lying to each other, and soon enough the line between truth and lies blurred against their growing affections. Laurent didn’t even know what he had said to Makoto were Carrington’s words or his.

“I’m sorry, Laurent.” Makoto wasn’t meeting his eyes. Laurent could feel his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and force a smile. From Makoto’s answer, it wasn’t exactly clear, but it was evident that he had been playing the role of Harada when he said those words. _Not that Laurent was any better_. This made things easier. Both of them just have to go through the heartrending pain to end this scene.

To end this whole lie.

“Mr Edamura. You have gone by many names and Harada Makoto is only one of your thousands of lies. Do you think I’ll be that dumb to… to believe you?” Laurent had to mentally collect himself halfway through. He wasn’t standing straight. Perhaps it was his headache, but he had leaned his weight to his front unconsciously, and if he didn’t reposition himself, he would fall over.

“I’m not as dumb as your idiotic company. I’m not some old man you can con.” He stared down at Makoto. The Japanese male had his arms folded around himself in a defensive position as he stood, hanging his head down in shame. Laurent gritted his teeth. He needed Edamura Makoto to hate him. Hate him so their relationship could end. He wanted the young male to lash out and punch him back—so they could bare their fangs at each other, showing their true colours. Edamura Makoto would get disgusted at him and his love would easily dissipate—but that was just his envision. In reality, Makoto wasn’t hating him.

  
Harder than expected, Laurent grabbed Makoto by the collar, shaking the younger male. He wanted Makoto to look into his eyes. So he could deal the finishing blows—so he could also self-detonate. He _needed_ to see Makoto’s eyes burn with hatred towards him before he leaves.

“You bastard, I’m not the innocent man that you think I am, nor am I easy to bully. How many names have you taken on? How many companies have you tricked and fucked over? Hm?” Laurent’s face was so close to Makoto, he wanted to take those lips right there and then (but that clearly didn’t suit the situation they were in—hurt, not flirt).

“Laurent… I’m sorry. One of your men called me and—“

“Of course they didn’t let a scammer like you take the company. Harada Makoto had died in Indonesia, along with Kashiwazaki Makoto, Senzaki Makoto and Watanabe Makoto. I know of your past schemes, Edamura.” Laurent spat.

Though, before Makoto could say another word of apology, Laurent cut in, dealing a knife slash to the younger man “If you want to play dirty, I can play dirty too. I have all the information on you— if you don’t transfer me what’s left in your dirty bank, I will release it to the CEO. And you know how he’s practically licking my shoes whenever he sees me.” An ugly sneer plastered across the blonde man’s face.

Laurent’s fists were trembling as they hold the younger man’s shirt. He willed himself to stare into Makoto’s eyes. Those brown orbs contorted and shook in confusion as it morphed into several other unsightly emotions. Sadness, anger and fear flickered through his face at once as Makoto struggled under the blonde man’s stare. Laurent let out a snicker as he looked at the man he loved breaking down. ‘Yes, hate me, Makoto. **Hate me so we both can live on**.’

“W-why are you doing this?” Makoto’s sweaty palms found their ways to Laurent’s hands. He was trying so hard to pry them off him. Those piercing blue eyes were so cold.

“Why? Do you think I’m easy to bully? Do you think I’m innocent? I’m still in my 30s but I’m a chairman of a hugely successful company. Did you think I made it up here by hard work?” He let out a tired laugh. He needed to show Makoto he wasn’t the man Makoto thought he was. Laurent Carrington—no, Laurent Thierry isn’t a nice man. He had cheated, conned and betrayed people to get where he was today. Reality don’t treat people nicely.

“No, Laurent… I don’t…” Makoto had droplets of salty tears pooling in his blood shot eyes. Laurent could see the disappointment in the younger male’s eyes and it made him more reassured than it should have.

“Edamura Makoto, you better vacate this damn apartment that you bought with the money you stole before your shit gets out. I’m expecting the money to be in my bank by tomorrow. I know you can do it. Aren’t you an expert in moving dirty money?” Laurent threw the smaller male down, letting him fall to the floor on his back.

“No… Laurent, I’m sorry. Please… Please don’t leave. I can—I can explain.” Makoto crawled to his knees and grabbed hold of Laurent’s ankles. His fingers shaking and desperately clinging onto the taller man. Laurent felt his heart tear as he looked down at the man that was so desperately in love with him—that made it harder for him to give that love up too. He was so close to bending down and taking the young male’s face in his hands, wiping away those tears and kissing the ugly bruise he had given to the man he loved. Instead, he spat. He spat at Makoto before kicking the fragile man away. His dress shoe digging into the feeble man’s ribs. His lips were pressed into a hard line before he turned away hastily. It was hard holding in tears—more than trying to force them out. Laurent bit his lips as a single drop of salty tears trickled down his cheeks. If Makoto were to see his tears, how would he feel? He couldn’t even bear to look back. If he did he would run to the man on the floor, hugging and soothing his broken soul (and that would make his efforts go down the drain).

_Why_ ** _don’t_** _you hate me, Makoto?_ It would have made thing so much easier for the both of them.


	8. Pretending that you're still around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter woohoo. You're in for a ride! This chapter has about 3000 words! The longest one so far!

The sound of the mechanical money counter numbed Laurent Thierry as he leaned against the concrete walls, staring into emptiness. Whenever he would receive the money from their target, he — and the two others would be so happy that they sometimes dance around the room, throwing the paper bills in the air. Joyous laughs and chatter would be heard as champagne bottles pop open to celebrate and signal the end of their grand schemes. Laurent would then bring in silver briefcases filled to the brim with cold hard cash distributing the money like Oprah giving gifts on her talk show. ‘You get a briefcase, you get a briefcase, everybody gets a briefcase!’ He would have shouted. Everyone would then scream in happiness as they relished in their new found wealth.

However, he was alone in an underground illegal bank—withdrawing his cash. The heavy briefcases quickly piled onto the pushcart he had brought down with him. The scary Armenian bank teller stared at Laurent as he put the money into the boxes, wondering how the blonde man in front of him got this much cash (but this was an underground bank after all and all types of shady illegal dealings had taken place in front of his eyes before, so he wasn’t _that_ bothered). However, if he was the one receiving that much money, he would be so happy he would quit his job and travel the world— very different from how the blonde man looked right now. Laurent Thierry looked so tired, the wind could topple him over if it blew. Dazedly, he brought the last briefcase onto the pushcart.

“That will be all.” The bank teller grunted, giving him a handwritten untraceable receipt.

“Thank you.” Laurent nodded, before leaving. He loaded the briefcases into a minivan he rented. Today was his last day in Japan. He had planned to stay for half a month, but ended up dragging his stay here. Abigail and Cynthia had already left 2 days ago, heading back to America. Being the hot tempered girl she was, Abigail still hadn’t forgiven Laurent, but was softer to him. She gave a word of comfort towards the tired blonde man before leaving for the airport, while Cynthia could only sigh and give him a hug. They were to meet up back in America after Laurent ties up the loose ends. The 2 of them left with mixed feelings as they stared out of their plane window, their eyes on their colleague who had driven his car out to the private landing and take off area. They didn’t really want to leave, but had to settle things back in America. Cynthia was almost scared that if she left him alone in Japan, he would disappear.

But Laurent had pushed them all away, refusing Cynthia’s offer to stay back with him. After all, the matters the both of them had to handle could easily be done by a single person. Laurent had told them he needed to be alone for a while. At least give him the 2-3 days he would spend alone in Japan before flying back.

The blonde male didn’t realise it, but his van had stopped in front of the familiar condominium. Its twin towers soared to the sky, only a security guard house separated him from that memory filled place.

“Oh! Mr Carrington!” Laurent winced at the sound of that name, a crude reminder of what had happened a few days ago.

“Oh, I’m right. It’s you.” A security guard had walked over to the side of the van, peering into the windows. He was the jolly old guard that had always greeted Laurent whenever he visited Makoto. Perhaps it was because he’s a foreigner or that his looks had always caught people’s eyes, the security guard remembered Laurent well, and had even taken quite a liking towards the younger man. Laurent had always smiled back to the guard that let his car through.

“You’re here again? Let me open up the gates.” He patted the roof of Laurent’s van, before ambling towards the guard house to open the gates for Laurent’s van to pass through. Laurent had wanted to stop the older man, but he kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t yet informed that the resident he was a guest to had moved out, hence he had let Laurent through. The blonde man hoped his actions today doesn’t get him fired. It was his fault he didn’t stop the old man. However, a small peek at that familiar apartment wouldn’t hurt, right?

He took the elevator up to the 25th floor, a briefcase in hand. He stood at the upper right corner of the elevator as if it was a habit formed from visiting Edamura Makoto this past month.

With a shaky breath, he exited the elevator and turned to the right and was greeted with the same mahogany wood door he had stormed into a few days ago. He remembered how Makoto opened the door and greeted him with such timidity… and how he left, letting the heavy doors slam after him. Boxes were piled outside of the house—clearly waiting for the movers to get to them, however, the whole of the 25th storey was quiet. Since it was still in the wee hours of the morning, none of the movers nor Edamura Makoto was here.

Laurent had promised himself not to cry when he his mind entered the territory of the man he’d hurt so deeply—of Edamura Makoto, but it was tough. He had been bawling his eyes out (rather uncharacteristically of himself) for the past 2 days and decided it was enough. No matter how much he loved the man, he couldn’t let the Japanese male’s absence affect him any further. He had things to do, places to be at and people that were relying on him. Be that as it may, he still felt his eyes sting from looking at the apartment door.

He placed the briefcase with the stack of boxes. Laurent was still worried for Makoto. He was scared he had driven the young male to absolute nothing. Maybe this was a way to comfort himself or a way to get Makoto’s forgiveness, but he clicked open the metal box, pulling out a note. Laurent had always carried a black pen on him, in cases where he had to sign something or write down a note, he would always put a fountain pen on his breast or back pocket.

With trembling hands, he wrote a message on the paper bill and folded it into half, putting it back into the briefcase. Before his eyes did another water show for the day, he turned around and walked away. Leaving those painful memories behind.

Away from him, in the all too familiar apartment.

…

When Laurent’s cerulean eyes confronted him straight on, filled with so much hatred and pain, Makoto didn’t know what to do. He could only let words of apology profusely stream out from his mouth—like a broken record. However, when he heard the man in front of him blackmail him. Makoto **really** didn’t know what to do. Was Laurent Carrington ever the Laurent Carrington he had spent his free time with? He remembered the fond memories they shared. The food they ate together, the text messages they endearingly sent each other (Laurent was more of a sticker using fiend than he thought he was), and their first meeting. Edamura Makoto had initially disliked the pompous family and their pretentious actions. Laurent Carrington was far more successful than him—he heard CEO Tanaka talk about that man like he was god. Laurent Carrington, at the age of 28 had already gotten his company to such a level. Laurent Carrington, this, Laurent Carrington that. He wanted to slap that old man going on and on about a man who wasn’t even a celebrity or an idol, but when he started talking to Laurent, he understood what his CEO was talking about. The man had an air of confidence, perfection and extravagance around him. Yet, when he heard the painful words that came out of the man that was so unrecognisable, it scared him. The man in front of him wasn’t Laurent Carrington. Not the perfect man he had spent time with in secret envy. Laurent was akin to Makoto’s personality. He was flawed—selfish and ambitious. And Makoto found himself loving the flawed— incomplete perception of Laurent Carrington… until he learnt Laurent Carrington was **not real**.

The movers around him were brute men, impatient and hot tempered, they loaded his boxes in their trucks, leaving their dumbfounded client behind with a briefcase in hand. The security guards weren’t as kind today to give the movers time since there was already another person, ready to move into the apartment Makoto had lost. The Japanese male could not imagine anyone else living in his space. The space he had spent time with Laurent… Thierry.

_‘I’m sorry for everything._

  * **_Laurent Thierry_** _’_



Makoto wanted to punch _something_. The briefcase in his hand felt like a slap of humiliation dealt by the person he loved—but of course, how could Edamura Makoto hate him? He was sure they were both feeling the same feelings for each other. Makoto had never been outstanding in any aspects of his life. Since young, he had average grades, average looks and even less than average number of friends. However, if Makoto had to wrack his brain for a strong point, he would say he wasn’t a person that gave up easily. When his father had gotten caught for his misdeeds and when his friends turned their backs to him, some even turned to bullying him, Makoto would withstand their beatings and verbal lashings. He would plaster a smile on his face as he walked home, slapping himself if a tear were to escape his eyes. Because his mother would be waiting at home and he didn’t want the woman he loved to be sad. This time, he wouldn’t give up on his love even if Laurent Thierry had. Star crossed or not, Makoto was willing to travel the galaxy and wait for Laurent to wake up—wake up and realise their feelings for each other wasn’t some shallow, one-month temporary thing.

The young male hugged the briefcase to his chest, walking away from _their_ place.

…

“Hey, that guy’s standing out there again.”

“What? That crazy thing? I’m getting cold just from looking at him.”

“HEY! You again! I told you it’s illegal to bother the residents by standing out here! How many times have I told you that?” A coarse, surly voice shouted into the quiet of the winter morning. There weren’t much people about, but commuters who frequently pass by the famous and expensive condominium would frequently notice a man standing under the oak tree (now barren in winter) that lined the streets near the prominent housing estate. The man would be dressed in the same suit as if he was stuck in the past, and just stare into nothingness. At first, an old security guard would talk to the suspicious man kindly, asking what he was standing there for, but only to get a cold response of ‘he was waiting for someone’. He got retrenched with a measly sum passed on as retirement pay, after a while from his constant ‘understanding’ interactions with the suspicious man. And soon enough, the other guards turned sour towards the nuisance.

The man would always hold a 10,000 yen bill in his hand as he waited.

Days passed, weeks, and soon months. Soon, the man frequented the place less, but would never fail to visit the same spot every Saturday. Today, the winds were relentless. The weather forecast for the day warning citizens of Tokyo to be aware of the cold snowstorm that had a 70% chance of happening. With the technological advances, soon enough, snow started falling through the grey skies. However, even with the snow piling around the man and covering his shivering body, he still stood there. In hopes of someone appearing.

“Boy, just go home for the day.” A guard walked over. He looked kinder than his sour colleague that had shouted at Makoto. Makoto was clearly cold in the relentless winter morning. Sporting a dark green suit and brown coat, it evidently wasn’t enough to go against the cold, unlike the padded jackets the security guards wore, the young male would no doubt fall sick. His ears and cheeks were too red and his eyes tired with eye bags hanging under his eyes like a sooty mark. Edamura Makoto had already frequented the place so periodically everyone knew him. The tenant that had moved out and comes back every week waiting for someone. No one knew why, since none of them bothered to ask the seemingly crazy individual.

“No, I can’t.” His voice was shaking from the cold.

“Look, who are you waiting for? I can pass the message on.” The guard offered as kindly as he could, but was only answered back with a shake of the head.

“Boy, if you don’t go back this time, we really have to call the police. It isn’t good that we have someone suspicious standing out here in a guarded estate. Go back home.” The man repeated himself, slightly firmer this time. His heart ached slightly for the shivering man in front of him. Though he was clueless about the younger male’s situation, he could tell that he was desperate. He didn’t want the man to collapse from the cold while waiting for someone that was surely not coming. He had seen this man wait for months now. Why would the person he was waiting for come _today of all days_?

“I cannot.” Makoto shook his head obstinately. Makoto hadn’t been living well after Laurent Thierry left Japan. He had scoured the internet for the name ‘Laurent Thierry’—there were Laurent Carrington, Laurent Maxwell, Laurent Richardson, but no Thierry. He tried surfing the American and even French web, but the con man was too slippery. No traces of him could be found on the internet. He had broken down once, laughing while punching his table. The con man that he fell in love with was so good he tricked him into giving his money voluntarily and yet he was searching for him so fervently… like a stalking idiot. Sometimes, Makoto would feel like giving up but his conscience would pull him out of his slump. However, life caught up and his bank account was dried up. He hadn’t touched a single bill in that briefcase Laurent had left him. He was scared if he spent it all, Laurent would just be a figment of his imagination years down the road of his crazed obsession. This was the only proof Laurent Thierry ever existed.

“Boy! I’m telling you nicely, just go home!” The guard grabbed Makoto’s arm, forcefully pulling the man. His grip was harsh, making Makoto’s face contort in pain.

“He’s right, you should go home.” A French accented voice said. His voice identical to velvet and sweet like nectar was all too recognisable.

Makoto turned around.

The man that stood behind him was the unaltered image of Laurent Thierry in Makoto’s mind. He had the same platinum locks, slightly longer this time, gelled from the centre—so long at the back, it touched the nape of his neck. His French descent evident on his beautiful face. Bearing high cheekbones with deep set eyes, his defined nose and brows made him look like an angel in the white snow. Those unchangeable china blue eyes stared at him in an unwavering gaze so intense, Makoto could barely stand.

He couldn’t control himself. Wrenching his arm away from the guard, he walked over, the thick snow crunching under his weight as he pulled his fists back before landing a solid punch. The loud thwack got the nearby guards to look over, their eyes widened to the size of saucers. None of them could say anything but stare at the suspicious man that had been haunting the same spot finally move. They had even thought he was a ghost at one point—with his tired eyes and pale complexion, it wasn’t impossible.

“Fuck you, Laurent.” Makoto shook. His knuckles were white from his tight clench, but fingers red from the painful punch. He looked over at Laurent Thierry. His face was now swollen purple, his lips busted open in an unappealing manner. A choked sob escaped from the brown haired individual’s lips as he stared at the man he loved—finally appearing in front of him after months of him waiting.

“I hate you so much.” Makoto grabbed Laurent by the collar, hoisting the speechless, hunched over man. Before the blonde man could even say anything, Makoto shut him up with a kiss. Their lips smashed together so hard, their teeth had knocked against each other. The kiss was so forceful, Laurent’s words that had been trying to escape from his throat faded away, long forgotten by the older male. His hand found its way to Makoto’s face. He cupped those cold cheeks, rubbing his thumb to try to warm the man he missed so much.

He hadn’t realised, but Makoto was crying. He tasted the Japanese male’s tears on his tongue as they clung onto each other, as if afraid to let go. Laurent was afraid if he did, Makoto would stare at him in disgust and hatred—he couldn’t handle that. And Makoto was afraid if he did let go, Laurent would run away again, back to wherever he came from… far, far away from Makoto. Leaving him alone once again.

“M-makoto. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sor—“ Before the blonde man could finish his words against the other male’s mouth, Makoto pulled him away abruptly with the fists still on his collar.

“Don’t. What has happened, happened. You fucking idiot, I missed you.” Makoto growled. He didn’t want the blonde man to apologise. In fact, he had imagined himself to be the one that would grovel for the other’s forgiveness when they finally meet again. However, hearing those words over and over, he realised they wouldn’t get anywhere with all those meaningless apologies. He was sick of waiting.

“Okay, Edamura… I love you.” Laurent said, his voice thick, on the verge of crying. Makoto laughed, loosening his grip on the man’s collar. He brought one hand up to Laurent’s face, rubbing his loved one’s cheekbones with his thumb as he took Laurent’s face in his palm.

“Don’t cry. It really doesn’t suit you.” He laughed, trying to will himself to stop crying too.

It was far too cold for either of them to cry. Howbeit, it was a day for them to huddle up close together, warming each other’s heart and soul.

Makoto believed that they could—and would, work out their problems together, and time would only help them heal from their past wounds.

**Fin**.

**Author's Note:**

> How did you like the chapter? Please leave a comment and give me further suggestions if you'd like! I'll try to reply them (´・ω・｀) Thank you for reading (✿ ♥‿♥)
> 
> The chapters will be posted regularly- maybe everyday or every other day! So, please leave a bookmark and kudos.


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